I used to manage a party store that closed at 7 PM. You’d think business hours were easy enough to understand, but apparently, they weren’t for everyone.
One night after closing, while I was at the register counting out the drawer, I heard someone absolutely pounding on the doors. Not a little knock; a full-on, desperate banging.
Me: *Under my breath.* “Oh no… not again…”
I step away from the register and see this woman through the glass.
Me: *Loudly.* “Sorry! We’re closed!”
I point right at the hours posted, clear as day, next to her face on the glass.
The woman refuses to turn her head to look at the hours and seems to be pretending that she just doesn’t understand why she cannot come in. She pushes and rattles the locked, deadbolted door, scowling at me like I’ve personally kicked her puppy and told her that the puppy deserved it. She actually shakes the door, glaring the whole time.
Me: *Even louder.* “We’re closed, ma’am!”
Customer: *Absolutely furious.* “WHAT?! OPEN THE DOOR!”
Me: “No.”
Resigned, I just turned away from her. I’m not about to relive this same story again, so I walk back to the registers.
Me: *To my coworker.* “I can’t take this anymore. How many times has this happened this week?”
Coworker: “Every single day. I think the only day someone didn’t freak out was… not this last Sunday, but the Sunday before.”
Me: *Head back, groaning.* “Uuuuggggh.”
Meanwhile, this woman is still banging on the glass. Then the phone rings, twice. I don’t pick it up either time. I know it’s her, and I know this whole script already. She wasn’t going to take “no” over the phone any better than she did at the door. And I had to open the next day, too. A clopen shift is rough enough without some after-hours shopping drama.
Eventually, she gave up. We all went home, sneaking out the back like fugitives.
So, the sun rises, and I’m back in my little pocket of nightmares at the store that, apparently, should not be allowed to close. I’m helping out at the registers, ringing people out.
Me: “Hi, how can I help you today?”
Oh dear. It’s the same woman again, her face still twisted into a rage virus expression.
Customer: “Hello.”
Me: “…Hi. How can I help you?”
Customer: “What? Oh, now you can help me? NOW you can help me?!”
Me: “Yes, what can I do for you?”
Customer: “Well, I don’t need help now! I needed help last night!”
Me: “Um, you’re here now, standing in my line. If you don’t need anything, why come back?”
Customer: “My young kid’s birthday was ruined yesterday because he had no balloons. All his little friends were sad too! I’m a single mom of four, and you didn’t help me yesterday. Why were you turning away customers?!”
Me: “…Just to check, you were the woman outside last night after we closed, right?”
Customer: “Yeah, that was me!”
I’m trying to wrap my head around this. Whose kids are having cake, sugar, and a mob of friends over at 7:30 at night? At that time of night, kid-friendly venues were closed, so she must’ve been having the party at home, which is some next-level insanity.
Me: “Well, I’m glad you made it in today while we’re open. Anything I can get you during actual business hours?”
Customer: “No! The birthday was yesterday, and it’s too late now because there were no balloons!”
Me: “So you’re here, not to buy anything, but to…?”
Customer: “I’m here to give you a piece of my mind!”
Well, she’s confirmed that she’s NOT a customer, because she’s not buying anything. She just wants someone to yell at. Unfortunately for her, I’m allowed to give back as good as I get.
Me: “Okay, so what part do I get? The part that remembers how business hours work, or did you give that away already?”
Customer: “How dare you! I’m the customer, and I am not happy with the service I received yesterday!”
Me: “You DIDN’T receive service yesterday, because we were CLOSED!”
Customer: “THAT’S EXACTLY THE PROBLEM!”
Me: “Well, from now on, please show up during business hours to get service. That’s when we’re here. Not before, not after. If you don’t need anything today, please move along.”
Customer: “I’m not done!”
Me: “But I am. I can help whoever’s next!”
She gasps, clutches her pearls, yells an F-bomb, and storms out.
She later called and left a long, rambling message for “the store manager” about how poorly she was treated. She was surprisingly honest about arriving after we closed, and how “that one manager” just didn’t care about all the money she was going to spend on balloons. I called her back and left her a message detailing our store hours and reiterated that we do not provide customer service outside those hours.
That finally seemed to shut her down for good, because we didn’t hear any more about it… from her anyway.
